Bill  of  the  Black  Hand 


Bill  of  the  Black  Hand 

A  very  tall  story 
by 

Wolf  Durian 


New  York 
Barrows  Mussey 


Translated  from  the  German  by 
Marie  L.  Barker 


MADE  AND   PRINTED   IN   GREAT  BRITAIN 


Contents 

I  The  box  that  said  'Thank  you!'  n 

II  A  thousand  dollars  to  a  catapult  1 7 

III  The  Great  Rattlesnake  gets  a  free 

ride  and  gives  the  Signal  25 

IV  Inspector  Bumser  hears  'Y-e-e-e-s!'  33 

V  Popovitch  comes  on  the  scene  43 

VI  Popovitch  has  a  brain-wave  on  the 

stair  5 1 

VII  Crosseye  jams  his  thumb  in  the  gate 

of  the  lift  6 1 

VIII  'Tat'  on  Popovitch's  top-hat  73 

IX  A  gentleman  surveys  the  heavens  83 

X  The    awful   boy   takes   Fly  buzzer's 

breath  away  97 

XI  Mr.  Popovitch  walks  out  with  Miss 

Trueyes  in  the  Park  107 

XII  Tat! —in  front  and  behind!  121 

XIII  Mr.  Flybuzzer  hears  the  flies  buzz  133 

XIV  One  minute  more  and  two  points  to 

make  147 


21C5360 


Chapter  I 


The  box  that  said 
'Thank  you!' 


C;HAJPTER  i 

The  box  that  said  'Thank  you!' 

'Number  12!'  called  the  hall-porter  of  the 
Hotel  Imperator  into  the  telephone.  'A  large 
box  has  just  been  delivered  here  for  you,  Sir. 
.  .  .  Yes,  for  the  gentleman  in  Number  12. 
.  .  .  No,  no  name;  four  boys  brought  it  on  a 
trolley  .  .  .  Yes?  Certainly,  Sir,  I'll  have  it 
sent  up  immediately  .  .  .' 

The  hall-porter  put  down  the  receiver  and 
pressed  a  button.  The  boots  appeared. 


ii 


A  box  arrives 

'Ernest5,  said  the  hall-porter,  'take  that 
box  up  to  Number  12.' 

'Just  put  it  down  anywhere',  said  the  stout 
gentleman  in  Number  12  without  looking 
round. 

A  mountain  of  letters  lay  on  the  table  in 
front  of  him,  and  another  mountain  towered 
beside  him  in  the  waste-paper  basket.  The 
stout  gentleman  was  writing  a  letter. 

T)ear  Sir',  he  wrote, 

'I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  call  here  to- 
morrow morning  at  10  o'clock. 

Yours  faithfully, 

Joe  Allan', 

and  on  the  envelope  he  wrote: 

*  Alexander  Popovitch,  Esq., 

Advertising  Agent.' 

Someone  knocked. 

'Come  in!'  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  and  put 
down  his  pen. 

12 


Mr.  Joe  Allan  says:  'Come  in!' 

'Gome  i-i-in!'  he  cried  again. 

But  no  one  came  in. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 
He  opened  the  door.  Not  a  soul  to  be  seen. 

Then  a  voice  said: 

'I  can't  come  in.' 

'Who's  there?'  cried  Mr.  Joe  Allan  looking 
round. 

'Me',  said  the  voice. 

'Where?'  asked  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

In  the  box/ 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  shut  the  door  and  turned 
round. 

'Come  out  at  once!'  he  commanded. 

'I  can't.' 

'Why  not?' 

'They've  turned  me  upside  down.' 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  rang  the  bell.  Ernest  ap- 
peared. 

'Turn  it  over',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  indi- 
cating the  box. 


And  the  box  says:  'Thank  you!' 

'Certainly,  Sir',  said  Ernest  and  turned 
the  box  over. 

'Thank  you!'  said  the  box. 

Ernest  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet.  'The 
b-b-b— ',  he  stammered. 

Box  was  the  word  he  was  trying  to  say, 
but  it  froze  on  his  lips. 

Then  he  dashed  for  the  door  and  disap- 
peared. He  tore  downstairs.  At  the  bottom 
his  head  collided  with  a  round,  soft  object, 
which  proved  to  be  the  stomach  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Bellows,  the  lounge  waiter. 

'D  —  ,'  said  Mr.  Bellows. 

'  "Th-th-thank  you,"  that's  what  it  said!' 
stammered  Ernest. 

Mr.  Bellows  shrugged  his  left  shoulder, 
rotated  his  blue  shaved  chin  twice  in  dis- 
approval and  walked  away. 


14 


Chapter  II 


A  thousand  dollars  to 
a  catapult 


CHAPTER    II 
A  thousand  dollars  to  a  catapult. 

First  a  small  hand  appeared  and  pushed 
up  the  lid  of  the  box  from  inside,  then  a 
peaked  cap  of  a  nondescript  shade  of  green, 
and  below  it  an  impudent  little  snub  nose. 
And  then  a  pair  of  trousers  beginning  under 
the  armpits  and  ending  goodness  knows 
where. 

When  all  the  parts  were  assembled  the 
result  was  —  a  boy,  about  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  old  —  a  very  ordinary,  rather  grubby 
looking  ragamuffin. 

'Hullo!'  said  the  boy.  'Are  you  the 
Cigarette  King?5 

'I  am',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan.  'And  who 
are  you?' 

'I'm  the  Great  Rattlesnake.' 

*  Indeed?    And  why  were  you  in  the  box?' 
B  17 


Enter  the  Great  Rattlesnake 

"Cause  else  the  hall-porter  would  have 
chucked  me  out.' 

'Hm',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  'and  what  can  I 
do  for  you?5 

'  'Arf  a  mo',  said  the  boy  and  began  turn- 
ing out  his  pockets.  He  unearthed:  a  crooked 
nail,  a  piece  of  string,  a  catapult,  fragments 
of  coloured  chalk,  peas,  marbles,  a  hairpin 
and  a  tin  box  that  had  once  contained 
peppermint  drops.  In  the  peppermint  drop 
box  was  a  scrap  of  newspaper. 

'Here!'  said  the  Great  Rattlesnake. 


Wanted.    An  Advertising  King 

It  was  the  advertisement  which  Mr.  Joe 
Allan,  the  Cigarette  King,  had  inserted 
in  all  the  newspapers  on  the  day  of  his 
arrival  from  America. 


THE  CIGARETTE  KING 

requires 

AN  ADVERTISING  KING 


Hotel  Imperator        Room  12 


'You've  got  a  nerve,  boy!' 

'I  want  to  be  your  Advertising  King', 
said  the  Great  Rattlesnake. 

'Is  that  all?' 

'Yes',  said  the  Great  Rattlesnake,  'that's  all.' 

Mr.  Joe  Allan's  face  grew  red,  he  took  off 
his  glasses  and  polished  them  with  a  corner 
of  his  pocket  handkerchief. 

'You've  got  a  nerve,  boy!'  he  said,  breathed 
on  his  glasses  and  went  on  polishing  them. 

'Look  here',  he  said,  putting  on  his  glasses, 
'What's  your  name?' 

'Bill.' 

'Well,  Bill',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  'of  course 
you  haven't  the  foggiest  idea  what  an 
Advertising  King  is.  An  Advertising  King 
is  a  Commander-in-Chief,  he  has  to  wage 
war  on  people's  eyes  and  thoughts  —  he  must 
have  a  new  and  brilliant  idea  every  day,  so 
that  he  will  make  people  talk  about  him. 
An  advertising  campaign  like  that  lasts  for 
many  months  and  costs  tons  of  money.' 

20 


The  bet  is  made 

The  Cigarette  King  paused,  and  Bill  said: 
'I  need  only  say  the  word  and  the  whole 
town  will  be  talking  about  me  to-morrow 
morning,  and  it  won't  cost  me  a  ha'penny.' 

'Not  a  cat'll  talk  about  you',  said  Mr.  Joe 
Allan. 

'Bet  on  it?'  said  Bill  immediately. 

'With  pleasure',  said  the  Cigarette  King. 
'Have  you  anything  to  bet  with?' 

Bill  meditated. 

'My  catapult',  he  said,  pulling  it  out  of 
his  pocket.  'It's  dashed  good  elastic.  Know 
how  to  use  a  catapult?' 

'No',  said  the  Cigarette  King,  'but  I'll 
have  to  learn  because  you'll  lose  the  bet. 
I'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars  to  your  catapult 
if  to-morrow  morning  I  meet  five  people 
who  talk  about  you.' 

'Done!'  said  Bill  and  held  out  his  hand. 

'All  right!'  said  the  Cigarette  King  taking 
the  small  boy's  hand  and  holding  it  fast. 

21 


The  Black  Hand 

Then  he  discovered  that  the  inside  of  this 
hand  was  painted  black. 

'Why  did  you  blacken  your  hand?'  he 
inquired. 

'Oh',  said  Bill,  'that's  our  secret  sign — the 
Black  Hand.' 


••.  <  •• 


J» 


22 


Chapter  III 

The  Great  Rattlesnake  gets  a  free 
ride  and  gives  the  Signal 


CHAPTER    III 

The  Great   Rattlesnake  gets   a   free 
ride  and  gives   the  Signal. 

The  hall-porter  was  standing  at  the  door 
of  the  hotel  just  as  Bill  was  coming  out.  Bill 
walked  round  him  in  a  semi-circle,  tapped  him 
on  the  shoulder  from  behind  and  muttered: 

'I  say,  porter  .  .  .' 

The  hall-porter  turned  round,  but  Bill 
turned  round  as  well  and  dodged  behind  his 
back  out  through  the  hall  door. 

The  hall-porter  cursed.  In  front  of  the 
hotel  a  dark-blue  motor  car  was  just  moving 
off,  and  there  was  Bill  sitting  on  the  back  of 
it,  being  whisked  out  of  sight. 

A  policeman  blew  his  whistle,  but  that 
didn't  worry  Bill.  He  was  noting  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  car  went.  When  it  turned 

25 


By  car  and  tram 

into  Duke  Street  he  jumped  off,  darted  under 
the  nose  of  an  old  cab  horse  and  for  the 
space  of  three  seconds  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  a  black  car  which  came  dashing  up 
hooting  furiously.  But  these  three  seconds 
sufficed  for  a  jump  which  landed  Bill  on  a 
passing  tram.  He  stood  in  a  corner,  and  it 
scarcely  ever  happened  that  a  conductor 
spotted  him  there.  If  the  worst  came  to 
the  worst  Bill  just  got  off  and  jumped  on  to 
another  tram. 

Bill  travelled  the  seven  stages  to  the  Under- 
ground Station  in  Jubilee  Square.  Dense 
queues  of  people  were  streaming  down  into 
the  muggy  Inferno  of  the  Underground, 
where  the  electric  lamps  shone  and  the  trains 
thundered  and  roared.  In  the  crowd  it  was 
easy  enough  to  get  through  the  barrier  with- 
out a  ticket,  that  is  it  was  easy  for  Bill\ 
anyone  else  would  have  been  caught  by  the 
ticket-collector.  But  Bill  had  had  long  prac- 

26 


Still  'under  age' 

tice;  always  and  everywhere  and  on  principle 
he  got  free  rides. 

He  went  second  class,  because  the  third 
was  crowded.  He  sat  down  on  the  fire-hose 
box  at  the  end  of  the  carriage  and  let  his 
legs  dangle.  A  lady  conversed  with  him 
during  the  journey. 

The  lady  got  out  at  the  same  station  as 
Bill.  Bill  took  off  his  cap,  made  himself  still 
smaller  than  he  actually  was  and  toddled 
along  beside  the  lady.  The  ticket-collector 
imagined  the  little  fellow  belonged  to  the 
lady  and  let  him  through  as  still  'under  age'. 
Bill  put  on  his  cap,  ran  up  the  stairs  and 
was  lost  in  the  crowd. 

Shortly  after  seven  o'clock  he  reappeared 
in  one  of  the  northern  suburbs.  Factory 
chimneys  towered  up  into  the  evening  sky. 
Sirens  hooted.  Armies  of  workmen  streamed 
through  the  streets. 

Like  a  rat  Bill  wormed  his  way  through 
27 


The  Signal 

the  moving  crowd,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  A  gaping  arch- 
way between  two  blocks  of  tenements  had 
swallowed  him  up. 

A  narrow,  dark  passage  led  past  towering 
brick  walls  on  either  side.  Then  came  a 
small,  dingy  backyard.  Here  Bill  stuck  four 
fingers  in  his  mouth  and  gave  one  long 
whistle,  followed  by  two  short  ones.  It  was 
the  Signal  of  the  Great  Rattlesnake.  Bill 
took  his  ringers  out  of  his  mouth  and  waited. 

Presently  in  the  gloom  small  shadows 
appeared.  They  came  popping  up  out  of 
basement  houses,  and  sliding  down  the  banis- 
ters. Boys,  big  and  small,  factory  boys, 
newsboys,  errand  boys,  schoolboys,  chimney- 
sweeper boys,  baker  boys. 

Now  a  sufficient  number  had  assembled. 

And  the  Great  Rattlesnake  said:  'The 
Black  Hand  will  meet  at  ten  o'clock  to-night 

at  the  appointed  place.' 

28 


Chapter  IV 


Inspector  Bumser  hears 
'Y-e-e-e-s!' 


CHAPTER   IV 
Inspector  Bumser  hears  'Y-e-e-e-s!' 

Like  the  wind  the  boys  were  up  and  away. 
The  archways  and  passages  between  the 
houses  swallowed  them  up,  they  climbed 
over  piles  of  boxes  and  railings,  they  tore 
their  trousers  on  barbed  wire.  In  all  the 
backyards  and  in  all  the  lobbies  they  whistled 
the  Signal  of  the  Great  Rattlesnake.  All  the 
dogs  barked  and  all  the  grown-ups  cursed. 

Doors  banged  shut.  Many  suppers  got 
cold  that  night!  The  newsboys  left  their 
newspapers  in  the  lurch,  the  shoemakers' 
apprentices  ran  away  from  their  masters. 
Two  boys  were  locked  in,  but  they  climbed 
through  the  window  and  slid  down  the  light- 
ning conductor. 

'The  Black  Hand  will  meet  at  ten  o'clock 
to-night!'  was  heard  on  all  sides.  The  twenty 

c  33 


The  gang  meets 

boys  increased  to  fifty,  to  a  hundred,  to  three 
hundred.  Every  street  was  full  of  running 
boys,  and  hundreds  of  roller-skates  rattled 
over  the  pavements. 

In  the  Underground  at  Rupert  Square  a 
gang  of  boys  dashed  through  the  barrier  and 
into  the  train  that  was  just  moving  off.  The 
ticket-collector  closed  the  barrier  and  gave 
chase.  But  too  late;  the  train's  tail  lamp 
glowed  ruby  red  in  the  blackness  of  the 
tunnel.  So  the  ticket-collector  had  to  go 
back,  for  the  grown-ups  behind  the  barrier 
were  cursing,  because  they  could  not  get  on 
to  the  platform. 

Each  of  the  boys  was  keen  on  distinguish- 
ing himself  in  some  particular  way.  Some 
rode  on  the  buses  and  hid  under  the  seats 
on  the  upper  deck.  Others,  on  roller  skates, 
got  pulled  along  by  motor  lorries;  on  one 
roller  skate,  and  with  the  other  leg  thrust  out 
behind  they  went  skimming  through  the  air. 

34 


The  'appointed  place' 

One  of  them  got  into  a  taxi-cab  and  called 
out:  'Quick  as  you  can  to  the  Botanical 
Gardens!'  The  driver  drove  quickly  to  the 
Botanical  Gardens.  When  he  stopped  there, 
the  taxi  was  empty  and  the  passenger  had 
disappeared. 

The  appointed  place  was  the  old  North 
Station.  Formerly  it  was  swarming  with 
people  and  the  arc  lamps  shone,  and  day 
and  night  the  trains  steamed  in  and  out. 
Then  the  new  North  Station  was  built,  and 
all  the  trains  were  diverted,  and  all  the 
people  congregated  there.  At  the  old  station 
entrance  the  iron  gates  in  front  of  the  pillars 
were  closed,  and  ever  since,  the  old  station 
had  stood  there  abandoned,  empty  and  dark. 
Doves  nested  in  the  booking-office  windows, 
and  the  waiting-rooms,  where  the  old  time- 
tables still  hung,  were  inhabited  by  rats. 

This  was  now  the  meeting-place  of  the 
Secret  Society  of  Ragamuffins,  the  Black 

35 


The  secret  password 

Hand.  In  twos  and  threes  the  boys  entered 
the  building  from  the  rear,  where  the  railway 
lines  used  to  be.  Not  a  word  was  spoken. 
The  moon  shone,  but  the  boys  crouched  in 
the  shadows  of  the  walls.  It  was  as  though 
they  had  suddenly  shot  up  somewhere  out  of 
the  ground.  Each  boy  had  to  whisper  the 
secret  password  into  the  ear  of  the  sentry  at 
the  waiting-room  door,  whereupon  he  was 
permitted  to  enter. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  eye  grew  ac- 
customed to  the  dim  light  that  glimmered 
through  the  dirty,,  broken  window  panes. 
Only  then  did  one  become  aware  of  numer- 
ous little  shadows  squatting  silently  on  the 
ground.  Gang  after  gang  kept  arriving. 

They  waited  on.  The  outside  of  the  station 
was  completely  surrounded  by  sentries;  no 
one  could  enter  unobserved.  Suddenly  they 
saw  the  Great  Rattlesnake  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  talking  to  someone.  No 

36 


CA  thousand  dollars' 

one  had  seen  him  come  in.    Perhaps  he  had 
been  there  all  the  time. 

Only  Creeping  Flatfoot,  Hercules,  and  a 
few  other  leaders  knew  what  was  afoot.  With 
them  the  Great  Rattlesnake  now  conversed 
in  whispers.  But  all  the  boys  strained  their 
ears  and  tried  to  get  an  inkling  of  the  secrets 
of  the  initiated. 

They  were  talking  about  a  Cigarette  King 
and  an  Advertising  King. 

'Black  Hands  —  everywhere  —  to-night', 
whispered  the  Great  Rattlesnake. 

To  which  Creeping  Flatfoot  briefly  replied 
'Right-O!' 

And  then  a  quite  inconceivable  word  was 
spoken;  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard  it  stood 
still: 

'A  thousand  dollars!' 

Suddenly  Bill  put  up  his  hand  and  cried: 
'To-night  each  of  you  can  earn  a  dollar. 
D'you  want  to?' 

37 


<Y-e-e-e-s!' 

'Y-e-e-e-s!'  they  all  yelled. 

The  whole  station  echoed. 

At  this  moment  Police  Inspector  Bumser 
was  passing  the  gates.  His  suspicions  were 
aroused.  He  pulled  out  his  'pea'  whistle  and 
blew  it. 

From  all  sides  the  police  came  running  up, 
beating  their  rubber  batons  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  then  came  still  more  police. 

'There's  something  happening  in  the  old 
station!'  said  Inspector  Bumser  and  shook 
the  padlocked  gates.  'We'll  have  to  get  in 
from  the  back',  he  said,  taking  his  hands  off 
the  gates. 

They  walked  right  round  the  station. 

The  Black  Hand's  sentries  had  seen  them 
coming  and  whistled. 

'What  are  those  confounded  boys  whistling 
for?'  inquired  the  Inspector. 

The  place  was  swarming  with  them;  they 
got  in  everybody's  way. 

38 


'Perhaps  it  was  a  donkey  .  .  .  ?' 

'Clear  out!'  roared  the  Inspector. 

At  once  the  boys  cleared  out,  and  now  the 
police  stormed  the  old  station.  It  was  empty. 

'I  distinctly  heard  some  one  crying  Y-e-e- 
e-e-s',  explained  the  Inspector. 

'Perhaps  it  was  a  donkey,  Sir',  said  one 
of  the  policemen. 


39 


Chapter  V 


Popovitch  comes  on  the  scene 


CHAPTER   V 
Popovitch  comes  on  the  scene. 

At  first  no  one  noticed  anything  unusual. 
The  ragamuffin  gang  still  enjoyed  free  rides 
on  trams  and  taxis,  but  that  was  an  everyday 
occurrence,  and  most  of  the  conductors  and 
drivers  had  long  since  got  over  the  habit  of 
being  annoyed  by  such  trifles. 

Nor  did  the  police  take  any  notice  of  the 
street  urchins  wandering  about  after  mid- 
night, practising  standing  on  their  hands 
and  turning  cartwheels  on  the  pavements,  or 
slapping  their  hands  against  advertisement 
hoardings,  metal  signboards  and  the  walls  of 
houses. 

Only  the  cabbies  and  their  horses  were 
annoyed  as  they  stood  on  the  rank  and 
dozed,  for  —  whack!  would  come  one  of  these 
devils  of  boys  slapping  his  hand  on  a  horse's 

43 


Three  o'clock  in  the  morning 

neck  —  or  behind,  and  waking  horse  and 
cabby  out  of  a  sound  sleep.  But  before  the 
poor  old  cabby  could  get  at  them  with  the 
whip,  the  young  rascals  had  vanished. 

How  the  cabbies  cursed! 

How  the  poor  old  horses  snorted!  And 
shifting  their  weight  from  one  leg  to  another, 
went  on  sleeping. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Bill  got  home.  On  his  tip-toes  he  crept  up 
the  top  stair  to  the  old  attic  at  the  back  of 
the  block.  But  in  spite  of  his  care  every  step 
of  the  old  stair  creaked. 

The  door  squeaked  too,  although  Bill 
opened  it  very  cautiously.  Now  he  stood  in 
the  dark  attic  and  listened. 

'Bill?'  said  a  little  voice. 

Bill  whispered:  'Yes,  it's  me.  But  go  to 
sleep.' 

'Uuua!'  yawned  the  little  voice. 

Bill  was  already  undressing. 
44 


Ellie 

'Bill',  said  the  little  voice,  'listen!' 

'Yes?5 

Tve  had  such  a  lovely  dream.' 

'What  was  it  about?'  asked  Bill  taking  off 
his  trousers  which  were  a  present  from  the 
builder  Strongbeer.  They  had  this  advantage 
that  they  almost  slipped  off  of  their  own 
accord.  Bill  had  only  to  unfasten  them  at 
the  shoulders  and  —  flop  —  there  they  lay  in 
a  heap  on  his  feet  and  all  he  had  to  do  was 
to  step  out. 

'About  a  prince',  said  the  little  voice.  'He 
came  and  said  to  me: 

'  "Ellie,  dear,  you  are  so  poor  and  your 
father  and  mother  are  dead;  you  must  wish 
for  something  very  nice." 

'And  what  did  you  wish  for?'  asked  Bill. 

'A  doll',  said  Ellie  tearfully.  'One  that 
opens  and  shuts  its  eyes  and  has  a  dress  with 
spangly  stars.  And  the  prince  said:  "Go  to 
sleep,  Ellie,  and  when  you  wake  up  the  doll 

45 


A  gentleman  .  .  . 

will  be  there."    And  then  I  woke  up  and  .  .  .' 

In  his  shirt  Bill  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  old 
mattress  beside  his  little  sister  and  looked  up 
at  the  tiny  skylight. 

'Perhaps  he  really  will  bring  it',  he  said 
and  gave  his  little  sister  a  kiss. 

'Good  night,  Ellie.' 

'Good  night,  Bill  —  Do  you  really  think 
he'll  bring  it?' 

Bill  rolled  himself  up  in  a  tattered  bit  of 
old  blanket  and  lay  down  in  his  corner.  In 
an  instant  he  was  asleep. 

The  next  morning  at  five  minutes  to  ten 
a  gentleman  wearing  a  shiny  top  hat  and 
yellow  gloves  entered  the  Hotel  Imperator. 
The  gentleman  was  perfumed  like  a  garden 
of  violets.  In  the  breast  pocket  of  his  dove- 
grey  frock  coat  was  an  orange  silk  hand- 
kerchief. His  tie  and  his  socks  were  apple 
green.  His  patent  leather  shoes  reflected  the 
surrounding  landscape. 


The  hall-porter  bowed  low 

The  hall-porter  stepped  back  and  bowed 
low.  But  the  gentleman  took  no  notice.  He 
took  his  monocle  out  of  his  eye  and  said: 


'Mr.—  eh  —  eh  —Joe  Allan,  cigarette  Johnny 
from  America  —  is  he  here,  eh?' 

'Yes,  certainly  Sir',  gushed  the  hall-porter. 
fRoom  12  on  the  first  floor.' 

47 


Mr.  Bellows  read  .  .  . 

Thereupon  the  gentleman  produced  a  small 
leather  card-case  of  lizard  skin,  took  out  a 
card  and  gave  it  to  the  hall-porter,  saying: 

'Kindly  give  him  my  card!5 

Then  he  sat  down  in  a  deep  armchair, 
crossed  his  striped  trouser  legs,  and  pulled 
off  his  left  glove. 

Mr.  Bellows,  the  lounge  waiter,  who  carried 
the  card  away  on  an  electro-plated  salver, 
read  on  it  the  legend: 


ALEXANDER   POPOVITCH 

Certificated  Advertising  Agent 


Chapter  VI 


Popovitch  has  a  brain-wave 
on  the  stair 


CHAPTER   VI 

Popovitch  has  a  brain-wave  on  the 

stair. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  was  shaving  in  front  of  the 
mirror.  'I  say,  waiter',  he  said,  pointing 
with  his  razor  at  the  table  on  which  the 
morning  newspaper  lay,  'who's  been  playin' 
a  joke  on  me?' 

Mr.  Bellows  followed  the  razor  with  his  eyes. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir?' 

'The  newspaper'  —  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

He  had  noticed  that  a  black  hand  was 
imprinted  life  size  on  his  newspaper,  right  in 
the  middle  of  the  front  page  leader. 

'The  black  hand?'  said  Mr.  Bellows.  'The 
talk  of  the  town,  Sir.  It  is  not  only  on  your 
newspaper  but  on  all  the  newspapers  in  the 
city  as  well.  People  say  it's  the  newsboys  up 
to  some  new  devilry.' 


Number  two 

'Indeed,  indeed",  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan  and 
went  on  shaving.  And  as  he  wiped  the  soap 
off  the  razor  he  muttered: 

'Black  hand  .   .   .  jolly  good  .  .   .' 

Mr.  Bellows  withdrew  noiselessly. 

Someone  knocked. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  cried:  'Come  in!" 

Mr.  Alexander  Popovitch  entered  and 
made  a  low,  jerky  bow. 

'How  d'ye  do?'  he  said. 

'Please  sit  down',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

'Heard  the  latest,  Mr.  Allan?'  began  Mr. 
Popovitch  putting  his  top  hat  on  the  floor 
beside  his  chair,  'the  whole  town  is  swarming 
with  black  hands.  Shop- windows,  walls  of 
houses,  pavements,  hoardings,  signboards  — 
full  of  'em!  Dirty  business!  What  d[you  think 
about  it?' 

'Number  two',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  shutting 
his  razor  and  washing  the  lather  from  his  face. 

'I  don't  understand  .  .  .' 
52 


An  insult 

'Still  three  to  get',  explained  Mr.  Joe 
Allan.  'You  see,  I've  made  a  bet  —  with  a 
ragamuffin.' 

'About  the  black  hands?' 

'Oh,  he's  at  the  bottom  of  that!  They're 
his  advertisement.' 

'Very  original!'  sneered  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'Yes',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  'I  think  so  too. 
That  boy  will  go  far.' 

'Sure!    He'll  be  a  marvellous  bill-sticker!' 

'Or  —  Advertising  King',  said  the  Cigarette 
King. 

Mr.  Popovitch  held  his  breath.  His  face 
turned  first  red,  then  blue,  then  yellow.  His 
monocle  dropped  from  his  eye. 

'Capital  joke  —  eh!'  he  spluttered. 

'No,  seriously',  explained  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 
'I  shall  arrange  a  competition  between  you 
and  him.' 

'Excuse  me,  Mr.  Allan,  that  is  —  eh  —  that 
would  really  be  almost  an  —  eh  —  insult!' 

53 


Popovitch  exasperated 

Mr.  Popovitch  was  boiling  with  rage. 

'An  insult?'  asked  Mr.  Joe  Allan.     'How?' 

'Compete  with  a  —  eh  —  ragamuffin  ...  I, 
Alexander  Popovitch!!' 

'If  you  don't  want  to  .  .  .'  said  Mr.  Joe 
Allan,  indicating  the  writing  table  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  'I've  still  got  four  hundred 
and  forty  two  applications  from  advertising 
agents  lying  there.' 

'Yes,  of  course  —  naturally  —  on  the  con- 
trary .  .  .'  explained  Mr.  Popovitch  hastily. 

'Well,'  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  'call  to-morrow 
afternoon  at  three  o'clock.  I'll  set  you  your 
tasks  then.  Good-bye!' 

Thus  Mr.  Popovitch  was  dismissed.  He 
got  up  quickly  and  in  his  excitement  stepped 
right  into  the  middle  of  his  smart  top  hat. 

The  interview  had  not  been  the  unquali- 
fied success  he  had  hoped. 

But  Mr.  Popovitch  was  by  no  means 
stupid.  Whilst  he  was  still  standing  on  the 

54 


The  brain-wave 

hotel  stair  repairing  the  damage  to  his  top 
hat,  he  had  a  brain-wave.  He  suddenly  re- 
membered the  notice  in  heavy  red  type 
which  he  had  seen  that  morning  on  a 
hoarding.  It  was  a  police  notice  and  it  said: 


£15  Reward 

will  be  paid  to  anyone  giving 
information  about  the  person  or 
persons  who  last  night  defaced 
the  pavements,  shop-windows, 
walls  of  houses,  cab-horses  etc., 
with  imprints  of  black  hands. 

Chief  Inspector 
Peppercorn 

55 


Do  you  remember  .  .  .  ? 

'I  say,  porter  — eh  — I  mean  .  .  /  Mr. 
Popovitch  stood  on  the  first  step  of  the  stair 
and  pulled  on  his  yellow  glove. 

'Do  you  remember  the  ragamuffin  who 
was  here  yesterday?' 

'D'you  mean  the  one  who  jumped  on 
the  back  of  the  taxi?'  asked  the  hall- 
porter. 

'Sure  that's  the  one',  said  Mr.  Popovitch, 
fastening  the  last  press  stud.  'To-morrow 
afternoon  at  three  o'clock  that  lad  is  coming 
back  here.  I  advise  you  meanwhile  to  have 
a  look  at  that  police  notice  on  the  hoarding: 
£15  Reward  will  be  paid  to  anyone,  etc. 
Quite  a  lot  of  money,  eh?' 

'And  easily  earned',  added  Mr.  Popovitch 
after  a  pause  for  effect.  'You  need  only  go 
to  a  police  station  and  report  the  boy.  He's 
the  Person.  Well,  I  need  say  no  more.  Read 
the  police  notice.  G'd  morning!' 

Mr.   Popovitch   touched  the  brim  of  his 

56 


Reporting  the  Person 

top  hat  which  now  looked  as  smart  as  ever 
and  left  the  Hotel  Imperator. 

'Ernest',  cried  the  hall-porter,  'put  on  my 
cap.  Take  my  place  here,  quick!' 

Ernest  put  on  the  cap  and  swaggered 
about,  and  off  went  the  hall-porter  to  the 
nearest  police  station. 


57 


Chapter  VII 

Crosseye  jams  his  thumb  in  the 
gate  of  the  lift 


CHAPTER    VII 

Crosseye  jams  his  thumb  in  the  gate 
of  the  lift. 

The  Cigarette  King  had  gone  out  for  a 
walk  and  he  marvelled.  As  far  as  the  first 
corner  he  had  counted  eleven  black  hands. 
But  at  the  corner  itself  it  was  worse  still. 
There  was  a  hoarding  there,  and  on  it  were 
thirty  or  forty  black  hands,  and  at  least  as 
many  people  stood  round  it,  for  the  C.I.D. 
man  —  Detective  Leonard  Flybuzzer  —  was 
at  the  moment  examining  the  finger-prints 
of  the  black  hands  with  the  help  of  a  magni- 
fying glass. 

'They  are  boys'  hands',  said  the  detective 
to  a  gentleman  respectfully  gazing  at  him. 

'Number  three',  thought  Mr.  Joe  Allan 
and  walked  on,  took  a  cab  and  drove  to  the 
Botanical  Gardens. 

61 


Downright  impudence 

On  the  way  there  people  kept  stopping 
and  turning  round  to  stare  after  the  cab. 

'Downright  impudence  I  call  it',  said  an 
elderly  gentleman  pointing  at  the  cab  with 
his  walking  stick. 

It  was  really  frightfully  embarrassing  for 
Mr.  Joe  Allan.  He  looked  down  at  himself; 
yes,  his  clothes,  his  tie  were  in  order.  But 
his  hat?  Mr.  Joe  Allan  hastily  removed  his 
hat,  looked  at  the  inside,  then  the  outside, 
and  could  not  find  anything  amiss. 


Number  four 

Just  as  he  was  putting  it  on  again,  he 
heard  a  little  girl  crying:  'Look  at  that  horse, 
Mummy,  all  covered  with  black  hands!' 

'Number  four,'  thought  Mr.  Joe  Allan  and 
turned  round  to  look  at  the  queer  horse. 
But  the  only  horse  he  could  see  for  miles 
around  was  the  piebald  one  pulling  his  own 
cab.  Piebald?  No,  Mr.  Joe  Allan  had  just 
discovered  that  it  was  a  white  horse,  and 
that  the  black  spots  on  it  were  black  hands. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  stopped  the  cab,  got  out, 
paid  his  fare  and  proceeded  on  foot  to  the 
Botanical  Gardens. 

It  was  lovely  in  the  gardens.  The  foun- 
tains were  playing  and  the  wind  rustled  the 
foliage  of  the  plane  trees.  Mr.  Joe  Allan 
turned  into  an  unfrequented  path  bordered 
by  silver  poplars. 

A  blackbird  was  hopping  about  on  the 
grass  pecking  for  worms.  At  last  he  reached 
the  little  cypress  grove  where  the  marble 

63 


'I've  lost!' 

statue  of  Count  Godfrey  the  Fat  stood. 
Suddenly  Mr.  Joe  Allan  heard  a  voice  behind 
the  cypress  trees  saying: 

'Right  in  the  middle  of  his  tummy!  What 
cheek!' 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  went  nearer. 

Two  students  were  standing  gazing  up  at 
the  statue  of  Godfrey  the  Fat.  When  Mr. 
Joe  Allan  looked  up,  he  too  discovered  the 
black  hand  in  the  middle  of  the  white  marble 
stomach  of  Godfrey  the  Fat. 

'I've  lost!'  thought  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  retracing 
his  steps.  As  he  was  leaving  the  Gardens, 
he  met  a  little  boy  who  was  playing  with  a 
paper  ball. 

'D'you  want  to  play?'  asked  the  little  boy, 
throwing  the  ball  across  to  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 
Mr.  Joe  Allan  caught  it.  But  just  as  he  was 
going  to  throw  it  back  again  the  little  boy 
ran  away. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  stood  there  with  the  ball  in 
64 


Account  rendered 

his  hand.  'Dashed  queer!'  he  thought.  What 
good  was  it  to  him?  It  was  only  a  crumpled 
piece  of  paper. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  smoothed  it  out.   There  was 
something  written  on  it. 


ACCOUNT 

for  the  Cigarette  King  from 
the  Grate  Rattlesnake 

To    meating    five    peeple    who    torked 
about  me 

Total  1,000  dollars. 

You  need  only  rite  down  about  wat  time 
I'm  to  come  and  fetsh  the  dollars  and 
then  you  can  throw  it  away  and  the  boy 
who  is  my  colleeg  '11  pick  it  up. 


Correspondence 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  took  out  his  fountain  pen 
and  wrote  at  the  bottom  of  the  paper: 


The  Great  Rattlesnake. 

Dear  Sir, 

The  account  is  correct,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  to-morrow  after- 
noon at  three  o'clock  in  the  Hotel  Imperator. 

Tours  faithfully, 

The  Cigarette  King. 


Then  he  crumpled  up  the  paper  into  a 
ball,  tossed  it  in  the  air,  called  a  taxi  and 
drove  back  to  the  Hotel  Imperator. 

The  following  afternoon  on  the  stroke  of 
three  o'clock  Bill  was  running  up  the  steps 

to  the  entrance  of  the  Hotel  Imperator.    A 

66 


Stalker  and  Crosseye 

second  later  he  found  himself  between  two 
appallingly  broad-shouldered  men  who  had 
been  waiting  inside  the  entrance  on  either 
side  of  the  door.  The  men  were  Detective 
Inspectors  Stalker  and  Grosseye. 

Immediately  Stalker  and  Grosseye  made  a 
grab  at  him  with  their  big  clumsy  hands, 
but  —  too  high,  for  Bill  ducked  and  like  a 
flash  slipped  through  underneath. 

He  was  an  adept  at  that. 

Fortunately  the  lift  had  just  stopped  at 
the  ground  floor.  The  lift  boy  in  his  sky  blue 
uniform  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  out, 
but  Bill  gave  him  a  push  which  sent  him 
flying  back  into  the  lift,  leapt  in  after  him, 
and  slammed  the  gate  to. 

'Help!  Murder!'  roared  Crosseye.  He  had 
jammed  his  thumb  in  the  gate  as  it  swung  to. 

So  Stalker,  Crosseye  and  the  hall-porter 
were  left  staring  after  Bill's  legs  vanishing 
upwards  in  the  lift. 


'I've  got  him!' 

'I've  got  him!'  said  the  hall-porter,  pressing 
the  red  'stop'  button  beside  the  door  of  the 
lift. 


68 


A  prisoner 

At  once  the  lift  stopped  between  the  floors. 
No  one  could  get  out  and  no  one  could  get 
in. 

Bill  was  a  prisoner. 


Chapter  VIII 


£Tat'  on  Popovitch's  top-hat 


CHAPTER    VIII 
'Tat'  on  Popovitch's  Hat. 

'I'll  go  up  now  and  send  the  lift  down', 
said  the  hall-porter.  'Then  you  gentlemen 
can  catch  the  boy  down  here.' 

Detective  Inspector  Stalker  nodded  assent. 
Grosseye  sucked  his  injured  thumb  and  glow- 
ered like  a  ferocious  bull-dog.  The  hall- 
porter  went  upstairs. 

He  was  extremely  pleased  with  himself. 
The  fifteen  pounds  were  practically  his. 
There  would  be  enough  money  to  buy  the 
gold  watch  and  chain  he  had  so  long  coveted! 

All  he  had  to  do  was  to  press  the  button 
below  the  sign  Down,  and  his  wonderful 
dream  would  come  true. 

The  hall-porter  pressed  the  button. 

'Here  he  comes!'  said  Detective  Inspector 
Stalker  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair.  Just  at 

73 


Here  he  comes! 

this  moment  Mr.  Popovitch  arrived,  looking 
very  smart  and  smelling  strongly  of  violets. 
Catching  sight  of  the  detectives  he  stood  still. 

Down  came  the  lift  and  stopped.  Like  a 
tiger  Grosseye  sprang  inside,  while  Stalker 
kept  guard  at  the  door.  There  was  no 
chance  of  slipping  through  their  hands  this 
time. 

The  boy  was  handcuffed  on  the  spot  and 
taken  away. 

Mr.  Popovitch  smiled  and  the  lift-boy  in 
the  sky-blue  uniform  took  him  up  to  the  first 
floor. 

He  went  along  to  Room  Number  12. 

'Well,  it  seems  one  of  the  parties  has 
arrived!'  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan.  'Now  we've 
still  got  to  wait  for  the  boy.' 

'I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  wait  quite  a  long 
time',  remarked  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'Oh,  no!'  said  a  voice  in  the  background, 
'here  I  am!' 

74 


The  sky-blue  lift-boy 

It  was  the  lift-boy  in  the  sky-blue  uniform. 
He  had  entered  the  room  just  behind  Mr. 
Popovitch.  And  this  'lift-boy'  was  none 
other  than  Bill! 

'Ah!'  cried  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  'here  he  is!' 

Mr.  Popovitch  tried  to  exclaim  'Well,  I 
never!'  but  when  he  opened  his  mouth  no 
words  would  come,  and  he  sank  down  in  an 
armchair  just  behind  him. 

'How  did  you  manage  to  get  hold  of  the 
uniform,  Bill?'  asked  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

'Oh,  the  lift-boy  lent  me  it,  to  cut  a  dash  in.' 

'I  suppose  he  too  is  a  member  of  the 
"Black  Hand"?' 

'Perhaps',  said  Bill. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  that  little  matter. 
Then  Mr.  Joe  Allan  proceeded  to  business. 

'How  much  do  you  earn  in  a  year,  Mr. 
Popovitch?'  he  asked. 

Mr.  Popovitch  earned  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  but  he  said:  'Five  hundred  pounds.' 

75 


'Gentlemen!' 

'Well',  said  the  Cigarette  King,  'as  Adver- 
tising King  for  the  firm  Joe  Allan  &  Go.  you 
would  earn  one  thousand  five  hundred 
pounds  a  month.5 

'Oh,  that's  all  right!'  said  Mr.  Popovitch 
crossing  his  legs. 

'Gentlemen',  continued  Mr.  Joe  Allan, 
glancing  at  Bill  who  had  just  realized  that 
he  too  was  included  in  the  term  'gentlemen', 
'you  must  know  that  in  the  State  of  Virginia 
I  own  a  town— Allan  Gity  —  situated  on  a 
river  —  the  Allan  River.  The  town  consists 
mainly  of  cigarette  factories,  and  these 
factories  produce  three  thousand  million 
cigarettes  a  day.' 

'Gosh!'  said  Bill,  'fancy  smoking  all  those!' 

( 'Selling  all  those,  you  ought  to  say',  correc- 
ted the  Cigarette  King.  'That's  why  I've 
come  to  Europe.  I  want  to  sell  my  cigarettes 
in  Europe,  two  special  brands  in  every  city. 
I  must  advertise  on  a  lavish  scale.  That's 


'That's  easy!' 

why  I'm  going  to  appoint  an  Advertising 
King  in  every  city.' 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  paused  for  breath,  and  then 
continued: 

'I  shall  now  arrange  a  competition  between 
the  two  of  you  for  the  post  of  Advertising 
King  in  this  city.  Here  is  the  task  I  set  you, 
and  the  winner  will  be: 

THE  ONE  WHO  FIRST   SCORES    150 
POINTS   IN   TWO   DAYS. 

Each  of  you  will  advertise  your  special 
brand  of  cigarette  as  widely  as  possible.  I'll 
be  walking  about  the  town,  and  I'll  keep 
an  exact  record  of  the  number  of  times  I 
come  across  your  advertisements.  But  at 
least  one  of  the  150  points  must  be  for 

AN  ADVERTISEMENT  I  HAVE  NEVER 
SEEN  BEFORE.' 

'That's  easy!'  said  Popovitch. 
Bill  was  silent. 

77 


TIT  and  TAT 

'The  two  brands  of  cigarettes  which  I 
want  to  sell  here  are  called  TIT  and  TAT. 
Take  your  choice,  please.' 

TIT',  said  Popovitch. 

TAT',  said  Bill. 

'Well,  gentlemen',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan, 
'please  note  that  my  conditions  must  be 
strictly  complied  with  —  even  up  to  the  very 
last  point  and  the  very  last  second.  The 
competition  will  begin  at  four  o'clock  exactly, 
and  will  finish  the  day  after  to-morrow  on 
the  stroke  of  four,  not  a  second  later.  At  half- 
past  four  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  leave 
Europe;  even  if  both  of  you  have  failed  to 
fulfil  my  conditions.  In  that  event  I'll  send 
over  an  Advertising  King  from  America'. 

Mr.  Allan  took  out  his  pocket  stop-watch. 

'Gentlemen',  he  said,  'it  is  two  minutes  to 
four.  The  competition  will  begin  in  two 
minutes.' 

Mr.  Popovitch  immediately  took  out  his 

78 


One  point  for  TAT 

watch.  When  the  two  minutes  were  up  he 
lifted  his  top  hat,  stood  up,  and  bowed.  Then 
he  put  on  his  top  hat  and  went  out. 

'That's  one  point  for  TAT',  said  Bill. 

He  had  hastily  stuck  a  piece  of  paper  in 
Mr.  Popovitch's  top  hat  and  written  on  it 
the  word: 


79 


Chapter  IX 


A  gentleman  surveys  the  heavens 


CHAPTER    IX 
A  gentleman  surveys  the  heavens. 

'What  are  you  waiting  for?'  asked  the 
Cigarette  King  after  he  had  scored  up  the 
first  point  for  TAT  in  his  note-book. 

'For  my  money',  said  Bill. 

'Oh,  I  see!  your  thousand  dollars  for  the 
bet!'  cried  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

Then  he  sat  down  at  the  table  and  wrote 
out  a  cheque  on  the  Commercial  Bank  in 
the  name  of  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  requesting  that 
the  sum  of  one  thousand  dollars  should  be 
paid  immediately  to  the  bearer. 

Bill  put  the  cheque  in  his  cap,  said  'thank 
you',  and  went  out. 

At  the  door,  the  real  lift-boy,  who  had 
lent  Bill  the  uniform,  was  waiting,  whilst  the 
hall-porter  went  upstairs  and  Stalker  and 

83 


Distinguished  Service  Order 

Crosseye  kept  guard  below.  The  lift-boy  had 
been  discharged  by  the  police  in  the  interval, 
when  it  turned  out  that  he  was  not  'the 
Person5. 

He  had  slipped  into  the  hotel  by  a  back 
stair,  and  now  he  wanted  his  uniform  from 
Bill. 

They  changed  into  their  own  clothes  in 
the  cloakroom,  and  Bill  said: 

'At  our  next  meeting  you'll  get  the  Dis- 
tinguished Service  Order.' 

The  lift-boy  beamed. 

They  were  both  ready  now,  Bill  looking  his 
old  self  again  and  the  lift-boy  wearing  the 
sky-blue  uniform.  They  stepped  into  the  lift 
and  went  down  in  it. 

Stalker  and  Crosseye  were  waiting  for 
them  below.  Mr.  Popovitch  and  the  hall- 
porter  had  seen  to  that. 

Stalker  and  Crosseye  knew  exactly  what 
they  had  to  do.  So  this  time  they  seized 

84 


Bill  pays  for  his  ticket 

hold  of  the  boy  in  the  blue  uniform  and  let 
the  other  one  go. 

But  —  goodness  knows  how  —  they  found 
they'd  got  the  wrong  boy  after  all! 

Time  was  precious.  Mr.  Popovitch  took  to 
his  heels  and  ran  after  Bill  as  hard  as  he  could. 
Bill  was  sure  he'd  never  run  faster  in  his  life. 

The  rest  of  the  day  Bill  spent  fairly  quietly. 
He  went  to  the  Commercial  Bank  and  got 
the  thousand  dollars.  Then  he  took  a 
Number  3  bus  to  Ransome  Street.  The  con- 
ductor came  along  and  Bill  paid  for  his  ticket. 
He  felt  very  grand  indeed. 

'Like  Ellie's  prince',  he  said  to  himself. 

In  front  of  the  Cafe  Eclair,  near  the  news- 
paper stall,  Hercules  had  been  waiting  a 
whole  hour  for  Bill.  Hercules  was  two  years 
older  and  at  least  a  head  taller  than  the 
Great  Rattlesnake,  but  he  waited  patiently. 
He  was  quite  prepared  to  wait  another  two 
hours  if  need  be. 

85 


Our  gang 

When  Bill  arrived  they  went  into  a  back- 
yard and  Bill  handed  over  999  dollars  —  in 
English  money  one  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
pounds  fifteen  shillings. 

Hercules  stared  in  amazement.  Never  in 
his  whole  life  had  he  seen  so  much  money, 
let  alone  had  it  in  his  hand. 

Then  the  Great  Rattlesnake  said: 

'You'll  see  that  that  money  is  divided  up 
among  our  gang  to-night  without  fail.  Each 
of  them'll  get  a  dollar,  that's  five  bob.  I've 
got  mine  already.' 

'Y-y-yes',  stammered  Hercules,  cramming 
the  money  into  his  trouser  pockets. 

'Are  our  spies  out  to-night?'  added  the 
Great  Rattlesnake  as  an  after-thought. 

'Spies  are  out  —  everything  O.K.' 

Thereupon  the  Great  Rattlesnake  went 
on  his  way  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  standing  in 
front  of  a  toyshop  in  the  High  Street.  In 

86 


The  toyshop 

one  of  the  big  windows  all  the  glories  of  the 
world  were  displayed.  There  were  gold  and 
silver  humming  tops,  carts,  motors,  balls, 
air-guns,  teddy-bears,  tennis-rackets,  floating 
animals,  and  dolls— at  least  twenty  dolls  — 
with  fair  hair  and  dark  hair,  with  blue  eyes 
and  brown  eyes.  They  had  sky-blue,  pink 
and  bright  green  dresses,  and  each  was  in  a 
separate  box  and  they  stretched  out  their  fat 
little  arms  as  much  as  to  say:  'Please  do  buy 
me!'  Bill  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and 
felt  for  his  dollar,  then  he  looked  at  all  the 
dolls  in  turn  and  went  into  the  shop. 

There  were  elegantly  dressed  ladies  there 
buying  toys  for  their  elegantly  dressed 
children.  The  little  girls  wore  starched 
muslin  frocks,  which  stood  out  stiffly  from 
their  thin  legs;  the  boys  had  sailor  caps  with 
the  names  'Thunderer'  and  'Dreadnought' 
inscribed  on  them  in  gold  letters.  At  first 
nobody  paid  any  attention  to  Bill.  At  last 

87 


A  doll  for  Ellie 

one  of  the  women  shop-assistants  noticed 
him  whilst  she  was  wrapping  up  a  big  box 
of  tin  soldiers  and  asked  him: 

'Have  you  come  to  fetch  a  parcel,  kid?' 

'Yes,  a  doll',  said  Bill. 

'For  whom?5  asked  the  assistant. 

Tor  Ellie.' 

'Ellie?'  wondered  the  assistant.  'Whose 
Ellie  can  that  be?' 

'Mine',  said  Bill. 

'Oh,  I  see!    You  want  to  buy  a  doll!' 

'Yes',  said  Bill,  'that  one  over  there.' 

He  pointed  to  one  in  the  shop  window. 
It  was  the  prettiest  doll  there.  The  assistant 
took  it  out  of  the  window,  looked  at  the  little 
ticket  hanging  from  its  arm,  and  said: 

'This  one  is  twenty-five  shillings.' 

'Oh!'  said  Bill.  'I  want  a  doll  that  doesn't 
cost  more  than  five  shillings.' 

'Oh,  certainly',  said  the  assistant  and  pro- 
duced a  big  box  full  of  dolls  of  all  sorts  and 

88 


The  prince 

sizes.    A  large  label  on  the  box  said:  Four 
shillings  and  sixpence  each.' 

Bill  took  his  time.  Suddenly  he  saw  a  doll 
in  a  blue  dress  with  spangly  stars  on  it.  'I'll 
have  that  one',  he  said.  So  the  assistant 
wrapped  it  up. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  Bill  reached  home. 
Ellie  was  asleep.  So  he  took  the  doll  out  of 
the  parcel  and  pushed  it  very  gently  under 
the  blanket  beside  Ellie. 

'Bill!' cried  Ellie  next  morning.  'Bill!'  She 
took  him  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  him. 
At  last  he  opened  his  eyes. 

'Bill!'  cried  Ellie,  'the  prince  has  been  here, 
and  I  never  knew.  He's  brought  the  doll, 
just  fancy!' 

'You  see',  yawned  Bill,  'didn't  I  tell  you 
he'd  come!' 

And  Ellie  ran  back  to  bed  where  the  doll 
was  sitting  up  in  solemn  state.  It  had  a  dress 
with  spangly  stars,  just  what  she  had  longed 

89 


The  spy 

for,  and  Ellie  had  already  investigated 
whether  it  could  open  and  shut  its  eyes.  It 
really  could,  just  like  Bill  a  minute  ago. 

'Darling  dollie,  lovely  dollie',  whispered 
Ellie,  kneeling  down  and  stroking  the  tiny 
shoes  and  stockings.  It  was  a  very  superior 
doll;  it  even  had  a  yellow  petticoat!  But 
then  a  prince  had  brought  it  and  it  had  cost 
four  shillings  and  sixpence.  The  price  was 
written  on  the  sole  of  one  of  its  shoes. 

Meanwhile  Bill  had  got  out  of  his  old 
blanket  and  was  putting  on  his  funny 
trousers.  The  doll  regarded  him  from  the 
bed. 

Suddenly  Bill  heard  a  whistle  in  the 
street  — it  meant:  'a  spy  is  bringing  news'. 
Bill  ran  out,  climbed  on  to  the  banisters 
and  —  swoop  —  down  he  was!  Bill  met  the 
spy  sitting  on  some  steps  outside.  They  pre- 
tended they'd  never  seen  each  other  before, 
and  began  to  play  at  marbles  in  the  gutter. 

90 


The  spy's  report 

As  they  bent  down  and  put  their  heads  to- 
gether to  consider  the  position  of  the  marbles, 
the  spy  gave  his  report. 

It  was  about  Mr.  Popovitch.  Ever  since 
he  had  left  the  Hotel  Imperator  the  spies  of 
the  'Black  Hand'  had  been  at  his  heels. 

Mr.  Popovitch  had  been  seen  driving  about 
with  a  gentleman  in  a  motor  car  from  one 
advertisement  hoarding  to  another.  Some- 
times the  gentleman  had  got  out  and  with  a 
measuring  tape  had  measured  a  space  on  the 
hoarding. 

'Yes,  and  then?' 

'Then  he  ordered  ten  thousand  advertise- 
ments.' 

'Where  from?' 

'From  the  printers,  Highlight  in  Museum 
Street.' 

'What's  on  the  advertisement?' 

'Tit,  the  best  cigarette  in  the  world.' 

'Nothing  else?' 


A  gentleman  surveys  the  heavens 

'No,  nothing  else.  I  say,  d'you  know  that 
man  over  there?' 

'Which  man?' 

'Over  there,  to  the  right  of  the  electric 
standard  in  front  of  the  yellow  house',  said 
the  spy.  'He's  been  standing  there  all  the 
time  looking  across  at  us.' 

Bill  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  yellow 
house.  A  gentleman  was  standing  there  sur- 
veying the  heavens.  Bill  looked  up  too, 
thinking  it  might  be  a  balloon.  But  nothing 
unusual  was  to  be  seen. 

Bill  knew  who  the  gentleman  was. 


Bill  departs 

Then  he  got  up,  pocketed  his  marbles  and 
went  down  the  street  alone.  The  spy  sat 
down  on  the  kerb  and  began  counting  his 
marbles.  When  Bill  was  out  of  sight  he 
strolled  off  in  the  opposite  direction. 


93 


Chapter  X 

The  awful  boy  takes  Flybuzzer's 
breath  away 


CHAPTER   X 

The    awful    boy     takes    Flybuzzer's 
breath  away. 

The  gentleman  who  was  standing  survey- 
ing the  Heavens  was  Detective  Leonard 
Flybuzzer. 

Leonard  Flybuzzer  knew  everything,  for 
Mr.  Popovitch  had  told  him  all  that  had 
taken  place. 

Bill  entered  the  Go-operative  Stores,  went 
up  to  the  counter,  and  tried  to  make  his 
face  look  as  stupid  as  possible. 

'What  do  you  want,  kid?'  asked  the  sales- 
woman. 

'Aw,  Miss,  I've  gone  an'  forgot.  May  I 
'phone?' 

'Yes',  said  the  saleswoman,  'd'you  know 
what  to  do?' 

G  97 


TAT  for  TIT 

cOh,  yes',  said  Bill,  'if  your  'phone's  in 
order.' 

The  telephone  was  in  order.  It  hung 
in  the  storeroom  which  smelt  strongly  of 
new  bread,  herrings  and  chicory.  A  green 
telephone  book  with  grease  spots  on  it  was 
there  too. 

Bill  looked  up  the  number,  rang  up  and 
asked  for: 

'Northend,  seven  double  four  two!' 

'Hullo?  Is  that  Highlight  the  printers? 
Popovitch  speaking.  Pop  for  ginger-beer, 
ov  for  of,  itch  for  scratching.  I  ordered  ten 
thousand  advertisements  from  you:  well, 
there's  a  mistake  in  them.  It  should  be  an 
"A"  not  an  "I".' 

6  What?' 

'Printed,  are  they?  Well,  print  some  more. 
Tat  — do  you  hear?  What?' 


'Being  sent  along,  are  they?    Listen,  get  a 

98 


'Cheerio,,  Flybuzzer!' 

move  on,  print  ten  thousand  "A"s  and  get 
your  men  to  stick  'em  on  the  placards  on 
top  of  the  "I"s.5 

Bill  hung  up  the  receiver,  went  back  to 
the  shop  and  said: 

'I  know  now,  Miss.  I  want  five  cream 
blodges.' 

When  Bill  came  out  of  the  Co-operative 
Stores,  there  was  the  gentleman  again 
surveying  the  heavens. 

A  motor-lorry  came  clattering  up  the 
road. 

'Cheerio,  Flybuzzer!'  cried  Bill,  stuffed  the 
five  cream  blodges  into  his  mouth,  dashed 
after  the  lorry  and  swung  himself  on  behind. 

Mr.  Flybuzzer  did  not  turn  a  hair.  Like 
every  famous  detective,  he  preserved  a  dig- 
nified calm.  On  principle  he  never  worried 
about  anything,  unless  in  great  straits. 

So  Mr.  Flybuzzer  went  round  the  next 
corner  where  his  push-bicycle  was  standing. 

99 


Nearly.  .  . 

He  adjusted  his  cap  so  that  the  peak  was  at 
the  back,  mounted  his  bicycle  and  pedalled 
hard  after  the  motor-lorry.  He  had  nearly 
caught  it  up  when  the  awful  boy  jumped 
off.  It  was  just  beside  the  entrance  to  the 
Underground  in  Brook  Street. 


The  awful  boy  ran  down  the  stair  to  the 
Underground.  So  Mr.  Flybuzzer  immedi- 
ately parked  his  bicycle  against  the  kerb  and 
ran  down  the  stair  too.  Just  as  he  reached 
the  bottom,  the  awful  boy  ran  up  the  oppo- 
site stair  and  disappeared.  Mr.  Flybuzzer 
ran  up  the  opposite  stair  too.  When  he 

arrived  at  the  top  he  saw  his  bicycle  being 

100 


'Stop!     Get  off!' 

ridden  away  without  him.  The  awful  boy 
was  sitting  on  it,  pedalling  swiftly  out  of 
sight. 

Mr.  Flybuzzer  waited. 

When  a  motor-bicycle  came  purring  along 
he  raised  his  hand. 

'Stop!'  he  said,  'get  off!' 


101 


A  voice  cries:   'Flybuzzer!' 

'What  for?'  inquired  the  motor-cyclist. 

'Police!'  said  Mr.  Flybuzzer,  jumped  on 
the  motor-cycle  and  started  up. 

He  spluttered  along  as  hard  as  he  could 
after  the  pedal  cycle  down  Brook  Street,  into 
the  High  Street,  round  the  War  Memorial. 
At  least  five  policemen  took  down  the  num- 
ber of  the  motor-cycle  for  exceeding  the 
speed  limit. 

Then  suddenly  at  the  corner  of  Bank 
Street,  he  saw  his  push  bicycle  resting 
peacefully  against  the  kerb.  Mr.  Flybuzzer 
stopped,  parked  the  motor-cycle  beside  it 
and  dashed  into  the  house  in  front  of  which 
the  pedal  cycle  was  standing. 

'Flybuzzer!'  cried  a  voice  from  the  stair 
inside. 

Without  replying  Mr.  Flybuzzer  dashed 
upstairs  —  up  the  first,  second,  third,  fourth, 
fifth  stair.  Then  he  saw  the  lift  descending 
swiftly  just  below  him. 

102 


'Flybuzzer!'  again 

'Flybuzzer!'  cried  a  voice  from  the  lift. 

Mr.  Flybuzzer  turned  round  and  ran 
downstairs. 

When  he  reached  the  bottom,  the  awful 
boy  was  standing  there,  shouting: 

'Gome  on,  Flybuzzer,  let's  hear  the  flies 
buzz!' 

Then  the  awful  boy  ran  away. 

Mr.  Flybuzzer  jumped  on  the  motor- cycle 
and  started  up. 


103 


Fly  buzzer  goes  home 

The  motor-cycle  did:  whissh!  and  sud- 
denly the  tyres  went  flat. 

Mr.  Fly  buzzer  mounted  the  pedal  cycle. 

The  pedal  cycle  did:  whisssh  too! 

The  awful  boy  had  gone  and  unscrewed 
the  valves! 

So  poor  Mr.  Flybuzzer  took  the  next  tram 
home. 


104 


Chapter  XI 


Mr.  Popovitch  walks  out  with 
Miss  Trueyes  in  the  Park 


CHAPTER    XI 

Mr.  Popovitch  walks  out  with 
Miss  Trueyes  in  the  Park. 

On  all  the  hoardings  big  red  placards  were 
posted  up,  bearing  the  legend: 


TIT 

The  Best  Cigarette  in 
the  World 


At  midday  a  salute  of  three  guns  was  fired 
from  the  state  observatory,  but  the  noise  was 
drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  city  traffic. 
Simultaneously  thirty  big  captive  balloons, 

107 


Mr.  Popovitch  gets  a  move  on 

hired  by  Mr.  Popovitch,  were  seen  mounting 
skywards. 

'I've  seen  that  stunt  hundreds  of  times,5 
exclaimed  the  Cigarette  King  when  a  gentle- 
man—  obviously  one  of  Mr.  Popovitch's 
agents  —  asked  his  opinion  about  this  latest 
method  of  advertising. 

The  thirty  captive  balloons  showered  down 
quantities  of  pea-green  leaflets;  each  of  which 
in  all  probability  bore  the  legend  that  TIT 
was  the  best  cigarette  in  the  world.  But 
nobody  had  an  opportunity  of  reading  a 
single  one  of  them.  The  ragamuffin  gang 
grabbed  them  all  as  they  fluttered  down.  They 
fought  for  them,  yelled  and  tumbled  about. 
Their  very  life  seemed  to  depend  on  securing 
these  green  leaflets! 

So  when  the  captive  balloons  descended, 
not  a  leaflet  was  to  be  seen  anywhere.  They 
had  disappeared  as  quickly  and  silently  as 
the  street  urchins  themselves. 

1 08 


'They're  thieves!' 

Mr.  Popovitch  ran  from  one  policeman  to 
another,  exclaiming:  'You  must  catch 
those  boys,  they're  thieves,  that's  what  they 
are!' 

But  the  policemen  shrugged  their  shoulders 
and  smiled.  'Catch  'em?  How?' 

'They're  like  rats.  They  know  every  hole 
and  corner,  every  backyard.  They  dash  into 
the  nearest  tenement,  run  upstairs,  climb 
through  the  skylight  on  to  the  roof,  run  along 
the  tiles  and  slide  down  the  lightning  con- 
ductor into  a  yard  where  they  hide  in  a  cellar, 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  they're  in  an 
entirely  different  street,  and  swing  themselves 
up  behind  a  motor-car  and  vanish.' 

Mr.  Popovitch  went  home  very  much 
annoyed.  He  ate  his  lunch  and  still 
felt  very  annoyed.  Then  he  lay  down  on  the 
sofa  and  fell  asleep. 

He  had  a  strange  dream.  Giant  cigarettes 
came  rolling  in  at  the  windows  and  out  at 

109 


Mr.  Popovitch  has  a  dream 

the  door,  cigarettes  the  size  of  barrels,  and  on 
each  barrel  were  the  words: 

TIT,  the  best  cigarette! 

Hundreds  of  them  rolled  in  and  out,  up- 
setting the  chairs  and  making  such  a  racket 
on  the  stair  that  the  whole  house  trembled 
and  Miss  Trueyes'  photograph  on  the  chest 
of  drawers  fell  down.  That  woke  Mr.  Popo- 
vitch. 

'Great  snakes  alive!'  he  cried,  although  there 
wasn't  a  snake  to  be  seen  anywhere.  'Great 
snakes  alive,  that's  a  swell  advertising  stunt!' 

Swinging  both  legs  off  the  sofa  he  stood 
there  beaming. 

'I  must  go  and  tell  Lydia  about  that  at 
once.' 

Mr.  Popovitch  put  on  his  coat,  laced  up 
his  boots  and  went  out.  He  took  a  taxi  and 
drove  to  Number  26  Trinity  Street,  where 
his  fiancee,  Miss  Lydia  Trueyes,  lived. 


no 


Miss  Lydia  Trueyes 

He  rang  the  bell  and  immediately  Miss 
Lydia  appeared. 

'I've  come  to  take  you  for  a  drive,  my 
dear  Lydia',  said  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'How  sweet  of  you,  Alexander  dear!'  said 
Miss  Trueyes. 

Then  they  drove  off. 

When  they  came  to  the  first  hoarding  Mr. 
Popovitch  told  the  driver  to  stop,  and  pointed 
to  the  red  placard,  which  said: 

TIT,  the  best  cigarette  in  the  world. 

'Do  you  like  it,  Lydia?'  he  inquired. 

'Very  much,  Alexander  dear',  gushed  Miss 
Trueyes. 

Then  they  drove  to  the  Park,  got  out  and 
went  for  a  stroll. 

'Guess  what  salary  the  Cigarette  Johnny '11 
pay',  said  Mr.  Popovitch. 

Quite  elated  Miss  Trueyes  put  up  her  sun- 
shade and  ventured: 

in 


Miss  Trueyes  is  stunned 

'A  thousand  dollars?' 

'You'll  never  guess!'  said  Mr.  Popovitch. 
'Two  thousand  a  month!  Well,  what  do  you 
say  to  that?' 

Miss  Trueyes  said  nothing.  She  was 
stunned. 

'Pounds  of  course',  fibbed  Mr.  Popovitch 
once  again. 

Miss  Trueyes  became  still  more  inarticu- 
late. Luckily  at  this  juncture  one  of  the 
comfortable  white  Park  seats  hove  in  sight, 
and  they  sat  down. 

'Two  thousand  pounds  a  month!'  sighed 
Miss  Trueyes.  'Whatever  shall  we  do  with 
all  that  money?' 

'Do?5  said  Mr.  Popovitch.  'Well,  first  of  all 
we'll  go  three  times  round  the  world  for  our 
honeymoon  —  round  the  top,  round  the 
middle,  and  round  the  bottom!' 

'Ooooh!  Alexander!' 

'And  then  we'll  have  a  house  built  of 
112 


'Whatever's  the  matter?' 

white  marble,  with  all  the  rooms  decorated 
with  silk  tapestries,  and  Persian  carpets.  And 
of  course  we'll  have  our  private  aeroplane 
and  hangar.' 

'And  Alexander!'  cried  MissTrueyes,  'then 
I'll  get  that  check  costume  at  Ham  worth's, 
yes?' 

'Oh,  my  dear  Lydia!'  said  Mr.  Popovitch, 
cnot  just  one  costume!  We'll  have  new  clothes 
every  day  and  throw  away  the  old  ones  of 
the  day  before.' 

They  got  up  from  the  seat  and  strolled 
back  through  the  Park,  arm  in  arm.  Lost  in 
happy  dreams  of  wealth  and  good  fortune, 
they  noticed  nothing  amiss.  But  at  last 
something  did  attract  their  attention. 

A  crowd  of  children  was  running  behind 
them  shouting:  TAT!  TAT!' 

' Whatever 's  the  matter?'  cried  Mr.  Popo- 
vitch. 

'TAT!  TAT!  He-he-he!' 
H  113 


A  new  advertisement 

'Get  out  of  here  at  once!'  bellowed  Mr. 
Popovitch,  turning  round.  And  then  he 
caught  sight  of  his  fiancee's  back. 

'Lydia!'  he  cried,  'look  at  your  blouse!' 

Miss  Trueyes  was,  as  usual,  wearing  her 
best  dark  green  silk  blouse  which  she  always 
put  on  when  she  walked  out  with  Alexander. 
On  the  back  of  it  there  was  now  a  large 
white  capital  T. 

'Alexander!'  cried  Miss  Trueyes  at  this 
moment,  'look  at  your  coat!' 

Mr.  Popovitch  was  wearing  his  dove-grey 
frock  coat.  On  the  back  of  it  there  was  a 
large  white  capital  T  and  a  large  white 
capital  A. 

The  word  TAT  appeared  on  the  backs  of 
Mr.  Popovitch  and  Miss  Trueyes  when  they 
walked  arm  in  arm. 

The  seat  they  had  been  sitting  on  in 
the  Park  was  responsible  for  that.  The 

painter-members   of  the  'Black  Hand'  had 

114 


'What  do  you  think  of  it?' 

unostentatiously  painted  TAT  in  white  oil 
paint  on  the  back  of  all  the  white  seats  in 
the  Park;  it  became  visible  only  when 
people  got  up,  and  even  then,  not  always 
immediately. 

At  this  precise  moment  Mr.  Joe  Allan 
crossed  the  road  and  saw  the  sad  sight. 

'Hullo,  Mr.  Popovitch',  he  cried,  'upon 
my  word  I've  never  seen  an  advertisement 
like  this  before.  What  do  you  think  of  it?' 

Til  have  'em  up  for  damage  to  private 
property,  I  will!'  spluttered  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'Oh,  don't',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  Til  be 
very  glad  to  replace  the  lady's  blouse  and 
your  frock  coat.' 

And  he  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and 
handed  Mr.  Popovitch  a  hundred  dollar  bill. 
Miss  Trueyes  beamed.  She  thought  imme- 
diately of  the  check  costume  at  Hamworth's. 

'By  the  way',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  slipping 

his  pocket-book  into  his  coat,  'You  should  get 

117 


Popovitch's  placards 

a  move  on,  Mr.  Popovitch.  I've  already 
scored  up  fourteen  points  for  TAT  and  not 
a  single  one  for  TIT.' 

'But  wh-wh-what  do  you  mean?'  stam- 
mered Mr.  Popovitch.  'Haven't  you  seen  my 
placards?' 

'Your  placards?    Where?' 

Mr.  Popovitch  hastily  led  the  Cigarette 
King  to  the  nearest  hoarding,  and  stood  there 
petrified. 

The  advertisement  now  said: 


A 


The  Best  Cigarette  in 
the  World 


118 


Chapter  XII 


Tat!  —  in  front  and  behind! 


CHAPTER    XII 
TAT!  —  in  front  and  behind! 

Towards  evening  all  the  members  of  the 
'Black  Hand'  were  on  the  war-path.  At 
five  o'clock,  just  as  it  was  getting  dark,  a 
load  of  small  briquettes  had  been  dumped 
in  front  of  the  Law  Courts.  The  caretaker 
had  told  a  couple  of  boys  to  stack  them  in 
the  cellar.  It  was  the  'rush'  hour  and 
crowds  of  people  were  coming  out  of  their 
offices,  all  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  and  few 
noticed  the  boys  beside  the  heap  of  bri- 
quettes. 

But  half  an  hour  later  the  caretaker's  bell 
was  pulled  violently  and  there  stood  a 
policeman. 

'Look  here,  Mister',  he  said.  'What's  up 
with  your  briquettes?' 

121 


The  artists 

The  caretaker  put  down  the  evening 
paper,  took  off  his  spectacles  and  went  out 
to  the  street  with  the  policeman.  The  bri- 
quettes were  arranged  in  a  neat  row  along- 
side the  pavement  thus: 


The  effect  was  most  artistic.  Unfortunately 
the  artists  had  mysteriously  disappeared. 
The  caretaker  would  have  liked  to  show  his 
'very  warm'  appreciation  of  their  art. 

The  artists  were  pressed  for  time,  because 
they  had  to  be  at  Rupert  Square  by  six 
o'clock.  They  arrived  there  with  a  soap- 
box, a  big  telescope  and  the  accompanying 
stand.  It  is  true  that  the  telescope  had 
formerly  been  a  stove-pipe,  and  the  stand 
was  manufactured  out  of  three  rather 
mouldy  looking  bean-poles  tied  together  at 

122 


A  new  star 

the  top  with  string,  but  in   the  dim   light 
they  passed  muster. 

One  of  the  boys  mounted  the  soap-box 
and  delivered  the  following  oration  to  the 
bystanders: 

'Ladies  and  Gentlemen!5  he  shouted,  'a 
new  star  has  appeared.  Kindly  have  a  look 
through  this  telescope.  There's  nothing  to 
pay,  it's  free  of  charge,  and  it's  a  sight  you'll 
never  forget  in  all  your  lives.' 

Because  there  was  nothing  to  pay,  lots  of 
people  looked  through  the  telescope  to  see 
the  new  star.  After  they  had  looked,  they 
laughed,  and  because  they  laughed,  still 
more  people  wanted  to  look  through  the 
telescope.  Mr.  Joe  Allan  had  a  look  too. 
Then  a  policeman  came  along  and  said: 

'Move  on  there!    What's  all  this?' 

The  crowd  moved  on  and  the  policeman 
caught  sight  of  the  telescope. 

'What  humbug  is  this?'  he  demanded. 
125 


'Look  out!    Pickpockets!' 

CA  new  star  has  appeared',  said  one  of  the 
boys,  look  through  this  telescope  and  you'll 
see  a  marvellous  si  .  .  .' 

'Shut  up!'  said  the  policeman  and  looked 
through  the  telescope.  It  was  directed  on  to 
an  arc-lamp,  and  a  piece  of  glass  had  been 
inserted  at  the  end  of  the  stove-pipe  with 
the  following  words  inscribed  on  it  in  red 
ink: 

'TAT  is  the  new  star/ 

When  the  policeman  made  a  grab  at  the 
boys,  they  were  no  longer  there.  The  stove- 
pipe and  the  bean-pole  stand  were  the  only 
things  he  could  lug  off  to  the  police  station. 

The  passers-by  laughed  and  walked  on. 
Then  a  voice  cried: 

'Look  out!    Pickpockets!' 

People  immediately  put  their  hands  in 
their  pockets  to  see  if  anything  had  been 
taken  out.  No,  on  the  contrary,  almost 

126 


'What's  the  matter,  dear?5 

every  pocket  had  more  in  it  than  before  — 
namely  a  leaflet.  On  each  leaflet  were  the 
words: 

'TAT,  the  finest  cigarette  of  the  day!' 

'Marvellous!'  thought  Mr.  Joe  Allan, 
pulling  out  his  note-book.  He  was  just 
going  to  score  up  two  points  for  TAT,  one 
for  the  telescope  stunt  and  one  for  the  leaflets; 
but  when  he  opened  his  note-book  he  saw 
written  on  it: 

'TAT  is  the  very  finest  cigarette' 

So  he  had  to  score  up  three  points. 

Then  when  he  got  to  Ludlow  Street  he 
saw  a  crowd  gathered  round  a  little  boy  sit- 
ting forlornly  on  the  kerb  crying  bitterly. 

'What's  the  matter,  dear?'  inquired  a 
lady. 

'TAT  —  tat  -  tat  —  tat  —  tat .  .  .' 

'Poor  kid,'  said  a  stout  gentleman,  'he's 
stuttering.  He'll  have  lost  his  mother.' 

127 


Til  teach  you!' 

'What's  your  name?''  he  asked  the  poor 
little  stutterer. 

'Tat  — tat  — tat  — tat  .  .  / 
'What  does  that  mean:  Tat  —  tat?" 
'TAT"*,    said   the    boy    suddenly,    'is    the 
finest  cigarette  in  the  world.' 

Everybody  laughed,  but  the  stout  gentle- 
man said: 

'You  little  devil,  I'll  teach  you!' 
In  a  jiffy  he  had  laid  the  boy  across  his 
knee. 

A  burst  of  laughter  from  the  bystanders, 
and  the  stout  gentleman's  hand  stopped  in 
mid-air,  then  he  too  laughed  heartily  and 
let  the  boy  go. 

Chalked  on  the  seat  of  the  boy's  trousers 
were  the  words: 

'TAT,  the  finest  cigarette  in  the  world' 

Again  Mr.  Joe  Allan  had  to  take  out  his 
note-book.  And  ten  minutes  later  again. 

128 


cln  front  and  behind' 

He  was  passing  the  New  Cinema  where  a 
huge  crowd  had  overflowed  almost  on  to  the 
tramway  lines.  The  picture  'Scalped  and 
Buried  Alive'  was  just  over,  and  the  crowd 
was  streaming  out  of  the  entrance  hall.  And 
nearly  every  third  person  had  a  leaflet  with 
the  words:  —  TAT,  the  best  cigarette  of  the 
day—  stuck  to  the  sitting  part  of  his  anatomy. 

The  leaflets  had  been  smeared  with  gum 
on  the  back  and  secretly  placed  on  the  seats 
with  the  sticky  side  up.  In  the  darkness  of 
the  cinema  the  people  had  sat  down  on 
them.  How  they  cursed  and  laughed  as  they 
helped  each  other  to  get  the  beastly  things 
off! 

The  Cigarette  King  took  out  his  note-book 
and  wrote  in  it: 

'TAT  -  in  front  and  behind!' 


129 


Chapter  XIII 


Mr.  Flybuzzer  hears  the 
flies  buzz 


CHAPTER   XIII 
Mr.  Flybuzzer  hears  the  flies  buzz. 

Next  morning  Mr.  Flybuzzer  received  the 
following  letter: 

Dere  Flybuzzer, 

if  you  kum  sniffin  round 
agin  you'll  get  wat  for. 

Yours  fathfuly, 

The  Black  Hand. 

But  that  did  not  intimidate  Flybuzzer, 
who  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  fear. 

Besides  him,  hundreds  of  people  in  the 
town  received  communications  from  the 
Black  Hand.  The  Cigarette  King  himself 
got  forty- three  letters.  He  had  to  pay  three- 
and-sevenpence  excess  postage  on  them,  as 
the  letters  were  unstamped. 

The  letters  said: 


The  telephone  stunt 

If  you  will  smoke  a  TAT 
Tou'll  never  get  too  fat! 

The  excess  postage  was  a  piece  of  cheek. 
But  the  telephone  stunt  was  much  worse. 
Every  five  minutes  there  came  a  ring: 

'Do  you  know  TAT?' 

'No,  d-    -  you!' 

Then  came  another  ring. 

'Hullo?' 

'Have  you  ever  smoked  TAT?V 

'Certainly  not!' 

fWell,  I'm  dashed  sorry  for  you!' 

'D d  cheek;    who's  speaking?' 

'Tat! -Tat!! -Tat!!!' 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  was  himself  called  to  the 
'phone  sixty-seven  times.  He  didn't  dare 
not  go,  because  he  couldn't  be  sure  if  it 
would  be  just  TAT  again  or  some  impor- 
tant business. 

So  as  not  to  be  continually  running  out 
134 


Mr.  Joe  Allan  sits  beside  the  telephone 

of  his  room,  he  put  a  chair  in  front  of  the 
'phone  in  the  passage,  sat  down  and  smoked 
one  TAT  after  the  other.  When  a  voice 
over  the  telephone  inquired  if  he  had  ever 
smoked  TAT,  he  replied: 

Tm  just  doing  so!' 

Then  he  scored  up  a  point  for  TAT  in 
his  note-book.  The  bill-posters  were  busy 
all  morning  cleaning  the  hoardings,  for 
during  the  night  the  boys  had  stuck  bills 
over  nearly  all  the  advertisements.  Some  of 
them  now  read  as  follows: 


TAT 


purchased  for  highest 
prices.  ISAAC  SMITH. 
Orders  personally  at- 
tended to.  Prompt 
attention  letters. 


Mr.  Joe  Allan  is  pleased 
iLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 


TAT 

Matchless  for  the  Complexion 


TAT 

Will  stop  that  Cold 


About  midday  the  telephone  exchange 
refused  to  put  through  any  calls  on  account 
of  the  complaints  of  subscribers  and  because 
nearly  all  the  receivers  had  been  left  off. 
Business  was  at  a  complete  standstill.  Mr. 
Joe  Allan  was  quite  pleased,  however,  be- 
cause he  could  now  go  back  to  his  room. 

136 


Things  get  worse 

At  the  same  time  the  post  office  refused 
to  deliver  any  more  letters.  Most  of  the 
letter-boxes  in  the  town  were  full  to  over- 
flowing, and  people  would  no  longer  take  in 
letters  nor  pay  excess  postage. 

But  the  situation  grew  even  worse.  Pre- 
sently through  every  open  window,  wooden 
arrows  and  darts  came  flying  to  which  leaflets 
were  attached,  which  said: 

'You  must  smoke  TAT' 

Numerous  mirrors  and  soup  tureens  were 
cracked  by  the  flying  missiles.  Such  a  state 
of  affairs  could  not  be  allowed  to  continue. 

At  one  o'clock  martial  law  was  proclaimed. 
The  newspapers  published  extra  editions 
with  the  headline: 

Down  with  TAT 

The  newsboys  ran  through  the  streets 
shouting  out  the  headline  at  every  street- 

137 


Advertising  prohibited 

corner.  It  was  a  new  advertisement,  but 
also  the  last.  A  proper  wash-out  was  in 
store  for  the  'Black  Hand'.  At  two  o'clock 
large  placards  were  issued  from  the  State 
printing  works  and  stuck  up  everywhere  by 
the  police.  The  placards  bore  the  words: 


By  Order 

of  the  Commandant 

All  advertising  is  strictly  pro- 
hibited. Any  person  disobeying 
this  order  will  be  shot. 

Captain  Funk-Noodle 
Commandant 


When  Mr.  Popovitch  read  the  Command- 
ant's order  he  turned  ashy  white.  Just  at  this 
moment  a  thousand  sandwich-men  were 

138 


Mr.  Popovitch's  legs  wobble 

rolling  a  thousand  giant  cigarettes  through 
the  streets.  Popovitch's  dream  advertising 
stunt!  On  the  giant  cigarettes  were  the 
words: 

'TIT,  the  best  cigarette' 

The  sandwich-men  were  immediately 
arrested  by  the  police  and  asked  by  whose 
orders  they  were  out  in  the  streets. 

Oh,  a  Mr.  Popovitch  had  engaged  them. 

The  giant  cigarettes  were  immediately 
confiscated.  Detectives  were  put  on  the  track 
of  Mr.  Popovitch.  He  hurriedly  bought  a 
pair  of  dark  goggles  and  a  waterproof,  and  at 
a  hairdresser's  he  added  a  false  beard  to 
complete  his  disguise.  He  did  not  recognize 
himself  at  all.  But  as  soon  as  he  was  out  in 
the  street  a  voice  behind  him  said: 

'Hullo,  Mr.  Popovitch!' 

Mr.  Popovitch's  legs  wobbled,  but  he 
pulled  himself  together  and  ran  for  dear  life. 


Flybuzzer  again 

He  never  even  looked  round.  Then  he 
became  aware  that  somebody  was  following 
him. 

'Not  so  fast',  hissed  a  voice  behind  him. 
'Walk  slowly!' 

Mr.  Popovitch  came  to  a  halt  panting, 
thinking  the  game  was  up  and  that  he  might 
as  well  surrender. 

His  pursuer  was  —  Bill. 

'D-d-did  you  recognize  me?'  stuttered  Mr. 
Popovitch. 

'Yes',  said  Bill,  'and  the  gentleman  over 
there  too.  Just  you  walk  behind  me;  slowly, 
though  .  .  .  ' 

'What  gentleman?"  asked  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'On  the  opposite  pavement,  in  front  of  the 
confectioner's  —  now  he's  beside  that  book- 
barrow.  The  one  with  the  sporting  cap.' 

'Who  is  it?' 

'That's  Flybuzzer',  said  Bill,  going  on 
ahead. 

140 


'Run!' 

He  got  on  to  the  next  tram.  So  did  Popo- 
vitch.  Mr.  Fly  buzzer  took  a  taxi. 

Jump  off!'  whispered  Bill,  squeezing  past 
Popovitch.  They  jumped  off.  Bill  disap- 
peared like  a  flash  in  the  crowd  on  the  pave- 
ment, but  Popovitch  was  not  quick  enough. 
Mr.  Flybuzzer  saw  him  and  told  the  driver 
to  stop. 

'Quick',  said  Bill,  pushing  Mr.  Popovitch 
down  the  stairs  to  the  Underground.  But 
now  the  trouble  was  that  Popovitch  had  to 
buy  a  ticket  before  he  could  get  through  the 
barrier.  Meantime  Mr.  Flybuzzer  was  hurry- 
ing down  the  stairs.  They  all  three  travelled 
by  the  same  train  to  North  Station.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  not  in  the  same  carriage. 
Mr.  Flybuzzer  barely  had  time  to  jump  into 
the  very  last  one  just  as  the  train  was  moving 
off. 

'Gome  on!'    cried   Bill,    when   the    train 

stopped.    'We'll  have  to  run  for  it!' 

141 


'Slowly  now!' 

But  Mr.  Flybuzzer  ran  for  it  too.  He 
nearly  caught  Popovitch  at  the  barrier, 
because,  being  in  the  last  carriage,  he  hadn't 
had  so  far  to  run.  But  a  fat  farmer's  wife 
with  two  baskets  pushed  in  front  of  him  at 
the  last  moment. 

'Slowly  now!'  commanded  Bill,  when  they 
reached  the  back  of  the  Old  North  Station. 

'Slowly?'  inquired  Mr.  Popovitch,  looking 
round.  Flybuzzer  was  running  towards 
them. 

'Slowly!'  repeated  Bill,  holding  on  to 
Popovitch's  sleeve.  Then  putting  his  other 
hand  in  his  mouth,  he  gave  the  Great  Rattle- 
snake's signal.  His  whistle  was  echoed  from 
end  to  end  of  the  Old  Station. 

'My  word',  thought  Mr.  Flybuzzer,  'what 
an  echo!' 

Suddenly  the  whole  place  was  swarming 
with  ragamuffins. 

They  had  what  looked  like  small  forks  in 
142 


Peace 

their  hands.  Mr.  Flybuzzer  heard  a  buzzing 
noise  to  left  and  right  of  him. 

'Flies?'  thought  Mr.  Flybuzzer  and  stood 
still. 

Ping!  —  that  got  him!    Ping!  —  another! 

They  were  not  flies,  but  peas,  Mr.  Fly- 
buzzer discovered.  And  the  small  forks  were 
catapults.  It  was  a  thoroughly  unpleasant 
situation. 

But  this  time  also  Mr.  Flybuzzer  was 
master  of  the  situation.  He  pulled  out  his 
white  handkerchief  and  waved  it,  crying:  CA 
truce!  Peace!  Retreat!' 

Thereupon  he  turned  round  and  fled  to 
safety. 

All  that  evening  he  waited  in  front  of  the 
Old  Station,  but  the  two  individuals  did 
not  come  out.  It  was  very  hard  luck,  for 
Mr.  Flybuzzer  had  been  gloating  over  the 
prospect  of  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone. 


Chapter  XIV 


One  minute  more  and  two 
points  to  make 


K 


CHAPTER   XIV 

One  minute  more,  and  two  points 
to  make. 

Mr.  Popovitch  stared  about  him.  The 
grimy  waiting-rooms  of  the  old  station  were 
swarming  with  equally  grimy  urchins.  Work- 
shops had  been  rigged  up  —  a  painter's 
workshop  and  a  printer's.  Boards  laid  across 
trestles  served  as  tables,  and  old  boxes  set  in 
front  of  them  did  duty  for  chairs.  Oil-paint, 
ink,  paste  and  glue  stood  about  in  pots,  or 
lay  in  pools  on  the  floor;  paint-brushes,  pens 
and  stacks  of  envelopes  lay  around  and 
tattered  fragments  of  waste-paper  from  the 
piled  up  heaps  fluttered  about  in  the  draught. 
This  was  the  great  advertising  headquarters 
of  the  'Black  Hand'. 

But  the  boys  were  not  working;  no  posters 


'Pack  up  and  go  home' 

were  being  painted,  no  letters  were  being 
written.  The  boys  were  just  standing  about, 
with  a  helpless  look  on  their  faces.  They 
were  all  thinking  of  the  order  issued  by  the 
Commandant,  Captain  Funk-Noodle.  Any 
person  disobeying  this  order  will  be  shot! 

When  Bill  appeared,  two  big  boys  ran  up 
to  him,  pulled  him  into  a  corner  and  over- 
whelmed him  with  questions.  The  boys  were 
Hercules  and  Creeping  Flatfoot. 

'What'll  we  do  now?'  they  inquired. 

'Nothing',  said  the  Great  Rattlesnake  pre- 
serving his  usual  calm,  just  pack  up  and  go 
home.' 

'Come  on',  he  said,  turning  to  Mr.  Popo- 
vitch. 

Together  they  went  through  several  dingy- 
looking  rooms.  Now  and  again  they  heard  a 
mysterious  rustling  noise;  it  was  the  rats. 

'Down  here!'  said  Bill,  striking  a  match. 

There  was  a  wooden  stair  underneath  the 
148 


'It's  muddy  here' 

floor,  or  rather,  it  had  once  been  a  stair! 
The  steps  were  now  rotten  and  decayed,  it 
would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to 
break  one's  neck  on  such  a  wreck  of  a  stair. 
A  damp,  mouldy  smell  came  up  from 
below. 

Mr.  Popovitch  climbed  down  timidly  and 
with  great  difficulty,  keeping  close  behind 
Bill  who  knew  exactly  where  it  was  safe  to 
step  and  where  not.  Now  they  came  to  a 
pitch-dark  passage;  but  the  match  had  gone 
out. 

Tut  your  hand  on  my  shoulder',  said  Bill, 
'and  just  keep  following  me.' 

For  about  five  minutes  they  groped  their 
way  along  in  this  fashion,  but  it  seemed  hours 
to  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'Stop!'  said  Bill.  'Now  we've  got  to  crawl. 
It's  muddy  here,  but  that's  nothing.' 

He  struck  another  match,  and  Mr.  Popo- 
vitch saw  a  round  black  hole  just  in  front  of 


'Here  we  are!' 

him.  On  all  fours  Bill  crawled  through  and 
looked  back  holding  the  lighted  match 
between  his  teeth. 

'Gome  on!'  he  grunted,  'the  match  is 
done.' 

He  spat  it  out,  and  with  a  hissing  noise 
the  last  spark  was  extinguished.  Mr.  Popo- 
vitch  was  splashing  about  up  to  his  wrists  in 
mud.  But  he  didn't  care  much,  because, 
after  all,  anything  was  better  than  being  shot. 
He  groped  along  after  Bill.  They  were  like 
two  toads  crawling  through  a  drain-pipe. 

To  right  and  left  of  him  Mr.  Popovitch 
felt  something  cold  and  round.  It  was  a 
water  main.  At  last  a  faint  light  glimmered. 

'Here  we  are!'  said  Bill  standing  up. 

An  iron  ladder  led  upwards.  Mr.  Popovitch 
looked  up  through  a  round  shaft  and  saw  a 
heavy  iron  grating  above  him. 

'An  underground  dungeon',  he  thought, 
trembling. 

150 


The  escape 

'It's  a  manhole',  said  Bill,  and  climbed  up 
the  ladder.  Mr.  Popovitch  followed  close 
behind  him. 

'Now  the  two  of  us  have  got  to  push  up 
the  cover.  It's  a  frightful  weight',  said  Bill. 
'Heave  —  o  o  o  o  o  o!' 

At  the  last  'o'  the  cover  yielded,,  and  Bill 
put  his  head  out  cautiously,  but  immediately 
withdrew  it  again  shouting:  'Look  out!' 

A  terrible  roaring  noise  passed  close  above 
their  heads. 

'What  was  that?'  asked  Mr.  Popovitch,  his 
teeth  chattering. 

'Only  a  taxi',  said  Bill. 

Then  they  climbed  out  and  found  them- 
selves in  the  middle  of  a  street.  What 
sights  they  were! 

'Gome  on!'  said  Bill,  shaking  the  mud 
from  his  shoes  and  fingers  so  vigorously  that 
it  flew  across  the  street,  and  an  old  gentleman 
began  to  curse  these  beastly  workmen  because 


Bill  and  Popovitch  part 

some  of  the  flying  mud  had  alighted  on  his 
spectacles. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Bill  and  Mr. 
Popovitch  were  standing  in  the  entrance  hall 
of  the  new  North  Station.  All  danger  was 
over.  Mr.  Popovitch  looked  so  filthy  that  no 
detective  could  possibly  recognize  him.  Not 
even  Mr.  Flybuzzer.  And  in  any  case  Mr. 
Flybuzzer  was  still  hanging  about  waiting 
for  them  at  the  Old  Station. 

'Have  you  got  any  money?'  asked  Bill. 

'Yes',  said  Mr.  Popovitch. 

'Take  a  ticket  to  Timbuctoo",  said  Bill, 
'the  Pullman  train  leaves  in  ten  minutes.  I 
hope  you'll  be  Advertising  King  there.' 

Mr.  Popovitch  felt  he  would  like  to  shake 
hands  with  Bill  and  thank  him,  but  on 
stretching  out  his  hand  to  clasp  the  boy's  grimy 
one,  he  found  that  Bill  had  disappeared. 

Outside  the  station  Bill  looked  at  the  big 
electric  clock.  It  was  twenty  minutes  to  four. 

'52 


Packs  his  trunk 

At  ten  minutes  to  four  Mr.  Joe  Allan  was 
standing  in  Room  Number  12  in  the  Hotel 
Imperator  packing  his  trunk.  He  had  put 
everything  in  except  his  slippers. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  went  to  the  door  and 
pressed  the  electric  button.  Ernest  appeared. 

'My  boots!'  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

'Y-y-yessir!'  said  Ernest  and  vanished. 

Mr.  Joe  Allan  took  off  his  slippers,  packed 
them,  locked  his  trunk  and  sat  there  waiting 
in  his  stocking-soles. 

Someone  knocked. 

'Come  in!'    It  was  Bill. 

'Well,  well,  so  it's  you!'  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 
'YouVe  still  got  three  points  to  get.' 

'That's  nothing',  said  Bill,  'here  comes 
number  one.' 

The  lift-boy  was  just  coming  in  with  the 
boots. 

'Thanks',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  taking  the 
boots. 

'53 


Tm  sorry' 

While  he  was  putting  them  on  he  looked 
about  him.  Well,  where's  the  point?'  he  asked. 

'On  the  soles  of  your  boots',   said  Bill. 

'You  might  have  said  that  at  once", 
grumbled  Mr.  Joe  Allan,  for  it  meant  taking 
off  his  boots  again,  because  he  couldn't  lift  his 
legs  high  enough  to  look  at  the  soles  of  his  boots. 

TAT  —  was  inscribed  on  the  soles. 

'That  trunk's  got  to  go  to  the  station  at 
once',  said  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

Bill  and  the  lift-boy  lifted  the  trunk  and 
carried  it  out.  When  Bill  returned  there  was 
Mr.  Joe  Allan  with  his  coat  over  his  arm. 
Bill  helped  him  on  with  it.  Then  he  handed 
him  his  top  hat  from  the  peg. 

'Well,  my  boy,  I'll  have  to  go  now!'  said 
Mr.  Joe  Allan.  'I'm  sorry  for  you,  but  I 
must  stick  to  my  conditions  —  up  to  the  very 
last  point  and  the  very  last  second.' 

'Of  course  you  must',  said  Bill.  'I'm  com- 
ing with  you.' 


One  minute  more  — 

To  which  Mr.  Joe  Allan  replied:  cRight-O', 
and  put  on  his  top  hat.  They  went  down 
together  in  the  lift. 

On  the  thumb  of  his  left  hand  the  lift-boy 
was  wearing  an  iron  ring  —  the  kind  used  for 
curtains  —  it  was  the  Distinguished  Service 
Order.  He  was  beaming;  the  iron  ring  meant 
much  more  to  him  than  the  ten  bob  tip  he 
had  got  from  Mr.  Joe  Allan. 

Downstairs  in  the  entrance  hall  Bill  looked 
at  the  clock.  It  was  one  minute  to  four  and 
he  still  had  two  points  to  make. 

The  entire  staff  of  the  hotel,  from  Ernest, 
the  boots,,  up  to  the  manager,  were  lined  up 
in  a  double  row  at  the  door  and  each  of 
them  got  a  ten  shilling  tip.  And  when  he 
came  to  the  manager  Mr.  Joe  Allan  shook 
hands  and  raised  his  top  hat.  As  he  did  so, 
he  happened  to  glance  inside  the  hat. 

TAT  —  was  written  there. 

Mr.    Joe    Allan    smiled,     took    out    his 


'I  congratulate  you,  Advertising  King' 

stop-watch  and  snapped  open  the  spring-lid. 

It  was  four  exactly  and  on  the  glass  of  the 
watch  was: 

TAT  —  written  in  ink! 

The  Cigarette  King  closed  the  stop-watch, 
put  it  in  his  pocket  and  shook  hands  with 
Bill,  saying: 

*I  congratulate  you,  Advertising  King.' 


156 


Shake  hands  with  him 

All  this  happened  twelve  years  ago. 

To-day  the  boy  Bill  has  grown  into  Bill 
the  man.  When  you  shake  hands  with  him 
you  need  no  longer  fear  that  your  hand  will 
get  black.  In  his  fine  house  you  can  sit 
down  on  any  chair  you  like  without  undue 
anxiety  about  getting  up  again  with  an 
advertisement  sticking  to  the  sitting  portion 
of  your  anatomy. 

Bill  has  become  a  real  Advertising  King, 
although  his  methods  are  no  longer  those  of 
the  Popovitch  period. 

He  has  had  to  learn  a  lot  and  work  hard. 
But  the  result  is  that  to-day  he  is  the  manager 
of  a  huge  advertising  agency  which  employs 
thousands  of  workers. 

When  he  accompanies  you  through  the 
various  rooms  and  halls  you  notice  how  he 
nods  now  to  one,  now  to  another  of  the 
designers  and  artists;  and  if  you  ask  him: 
'Who  is  that?'  you  are  told  the  queerest 

157 


The  Black  Hand 

names  —  Hercules,  Creeping  Flatfoot,  and 
so  on. 

And  opposite  the  Agency  is  a  fine  villa. 
Here  Ellie  lives  with  her  prince.  Not  a  real 
prince,  of  course,  but  Bill's  best  friend  and 
colleague.  Though  Ellie  insists  that  it  is  her 
prince.  And  if  she  says  so,  she  will  probably 
be  right. 

And  just  a  few  days  ago  Mr.  Joe  Allan 
named  his  latest  brand  of  cigarette.  It  has 
been  a  howling  success.  The  whole  of  America 
smokes  it,  and  it  is  called: 

The  Black  Hand'. 


1 '•  '    ii     i    i  ii     I  I  III  Mm 

A     000  042  141     2 


